I can measure the state of my mental health
By the lines left in ny skin
Some scarlet and bumpy
Some pale and thin
I can measure my relationship with food
By the gap between the waistband
Of my jeans And the hips poking through
Like the knuckles in my hand
Sat on my own in a spoons
A few years ago, I could think of nothing worse
A few months ago, I’d have been terrified of the idea
But faced with interacting with strangers
That aren’t even strange
People I know on the off hand
Not well enough to keep up
Not well enough to fill in
On the dramatic swings my life takes
At every given turn
I’d rather sit on my own
In a crowded bar
Alone with my own thoughts
Surrounded by strangers’ conversations to keep
My busy brain from running circles round itself
I left a piece of my heart there
I don’t know why
And I wasn’t planning it when I chose to go
There’s a piece of my heart on that tiny town in the cornish coast
A place full of my people
Get the good and the bad
But it’s all good fun
There’s a piece of my heart there
Tugging like an elastic band,
Pulling me back
I don’t know if I’ll make it
But I really wish I could
I want to start unpacking my trip
The baggage I bought home
From my unexpected hospital stay
I wasn’t trying to get admitted
Just a quick trip to the out of hours doctors
Who passed me on
Unexpected unprepared and with no belongings
I’m home now and I don’t know where to start
Processing how this changed me
The time spent wrapped up in myself
While forcibly in the company of other people
Comradory growing between the unlikeliest of pals
Cultivated by circumstance
All out on the table
In our worst states
No one gives a shit what you look like
On your Unexpected hospital stay
I thought about writinging these
For my 46 hours in a&e
I thought of the good it would do
Selfishly mostly for me , helping my brain
Pleased with myself
For writing something for myself again
I thought about the bad
The impression it gives
Of the nurses where every single one
Did everything they could to make things better
Overwhelmed by a broken system
White paneled walls
Of the under pass traffic
Filtered into one lane
For no clear reason
Everything reflecting red
Closed lane, brakes pulled
Everything in red
Bouncing off the plastic touch tunnel
Until the tone turns purple
Then blue
The ambulance comes into view
And the accident is apparent
Our eyes make contact
As you glance through the holes in the fence
I see the look in your eye
Before you see me
Who would leave a house like this
To over run like that
Then you catch me
Stood watching
The birds and the bees
As they enjoy the meadow grass garden
I know from the way you look away
You’ve heard it all
Know who lives here
In this house
With the garden returned to the wild
Because I haven’t been seen
Not really witnessed
In these parts
For some years now
Just a rumour
I stopped being scary
Some time ago
As memory fades
The house where the devil lived
Is now a run down cottage
By the water
Fading into fairytale
Over taken by time
I can’t tell you you’re not welcome
Because honestly that’s not quite true
I can’t tell you not to come here
Because at the end of the day it’s your home too
We’ve come for different reasons
Seeking refuge at different times in our lives
You always a few years my junior
Are still young
Wild
And free
I’m here to find time out
Space where I cannot be found
Disturbed only by the wind in the trees
Waves on the river
And birds welcoming the new day
Now that’s mirrored with
The slamming of doors
The raising of voices
As you’ve re entered
This house we’ve always known
At the start of a new day
Carrying with you the drink from the night before
Not my quiet respite
Not my retreat
We’ve both run home
Searching for different places
I’m to not go too hard on myself
Take it easy
There’s so much going on
So much out of my control
Landed with things I didn’t ask for
That I want to much to say no to
Just not yet
Not right now
Take it easy
One thing at a time
Not taking it too far
To have everything all at once
There’s a mood
I can’t quite put into words
It’s the drive home
In the pouring rain
Beating the windows
But they’re still open a crack
To let the cool air in
After my shift
Twice as long as an office day
Hotter than summer
Stuck on the cook line
Of the kitchen
I’m no chef
Not meant to be here
But it comes with the job
Music blaring
Trying to block out the ringing
Of the bar music in my ears
As I carry the tone of the night
Home with me
Rhiannon Writes 
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